


Project Bastard

by astudyinwhimsy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, hinted france/england, hinted hungary/belgium, hinted north italy/germany, hinted prussia/canada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 01:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1491700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinwhimsy/pseuds/astudyinwhimsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Romano is conducting a study. Or maybe not so much a study as a thesis compilation. Or maybe just a nice collection of memories to mention when that ring finally comes into play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Project Bastard

Romano is conducting a study.

He's got "the subject" catalogued in writing, with appropriate pictures drawn in (courtesy of himself, thank you, because Feliciano isn't the only goddamned artist this side of the Mediterranean) just in the case the reader doesn't realize how big of a problem "the subject" _is_. He's labeled each section, with captions in the margins and quotes from at least semi-reliable sources known to associate with "the subject." He's even given the the study an official name, in case it's mentioned in his biography next to _Death by Green Puppy Dog Eyes_ : Project Bastard.

Organization? Shocker. Effort? Call the presses! Staying awake long enough to contribute some valuable siesta time to a project that won't result in food or money? Yeah, Romano's just as surprised. But he's positive that that only emphasizes, again, the severity of "the subject" and the effect it has. An effect which, while previously ignored and denied with a vehemence usually only shown in the presence of tomatoes, slowly grew on him until it basically took over his pathetic life and buried him in pile of those things called feelings.

Now would probably be a good time to mention what exactly "the subject" is, just for the record.

* * *

"Hi, my name's Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo, and I'm from Spain!"

It is June 14th, a swelteringly sunny day in Rocca di Papa, and Romano's patience for tourists ran out fifteen years ago. Unfortunately, bleeding the suckers dry for some picturesque painting of Roman architecture is exactly what he does for a living, and he can't afford to piss off the lady with a farmer's sunburn and a camera the size of Corsica.

Or the irritatingly cheerful man watching him work so closely his breath is making the paint dry.

" _Grazi mille_ ," Romano says sweetly, with a charming smile that makes Miss Sunshine giggle, before flicking the head of curly brown hair that is apparently trying to become one with the finest oil pastels euros can buy.

"And you need to back up before you smudge that building with your nose."

Romano may have swallowed his usual choice expletives, but if the idiot didn't move his face in three seconds, he was going to get a colorful oil moisturizer to the face, picture be damned.

"Ah, so sorry!" The Spaniard immediately retreats, holding up his hands with an apologetic smile.

( _And_ that _._

That _is where Romano smashes the pause button with his thumb and scribbles down the date and time, because that is the exact instant he saw Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo's green eyes for the first time, and the exact instant he knew something absolutely abominable had been set in motion._ )

"I just couldn't help but take a closer look! You are very good!"Antonio exclaims, smiling brilliantly.

Romano nods stiffly. "Thanks, I try." See? He can be polite when he sets his mind to it. Especially if it means ending a conversation with no strings attached. He returns the smile and resumes working on his latest canvas of a very pretty girl buying gelato at one of those little corner shops.

"Do you know, I'm an art student, too!"

Clearly Romano should be made a saint if he has been granted the patience to not send this man scampering down the street, tail between his legs, with words alone at this exact moment. Probably because that kind of thing is generally considered bad for business.

"I didn't know that. Why don't you just sit and chat about it for a while, hm? Keep yourself busy while blocking the street's view of my stand." Romano feels certain that the amount of poisonous sarcasm dripping from his mouth, in addition to his patented Romano Vargas glare©, ought to be more than enough of a hint.

"Oh, I didn't mean to block! But yes, I am! At the art university in Rome, I'm studying abroad! And I wanted to get a picture of areas outside the main tourist attractions, so here I am!" Antonio beams brightly, now admiring Romano's oils from the side of the stand. "What brand do you use? I prefer pastels myself, but my friend Francis really likes oil paints!"

Romano grits his teeth and turns to look at him, short fuse blown. "Can't you see I'm trying to work here, bastard? I don't actually care about your fucking university holiday! Half the population here is on holiday!"

Surely this, coupled with Romano's heaving breathing and threatening stance, complete with a firmly held paintbrush, will drive the annoying Spaniard away.

Antonio blinks twice, then smiles brightly (it's probably just the sun).

"I don't mind!"

* * *

That was the Initial Encounter. Romano doesn't like to think he was so very effected by it, and neither does Antonio. Because, frankly, Antonio was an annoying idiot and Romano was a pissy misanthropist. They both still are, actually.

But those are from the con list. See, as an important part of documentation, Romano has several pro and con lists. Pros and cons of Feliciano getting it on with the blond potato (con, con, con), pros and cons of having a beautiful cousin with enough sweets to survive any kind of apocalypse (pro, pro, pro), and pros and cons of meeting Antonio like that (...it's complicated).

If matters had been left like that, Romano would have dropped it. Some foreigner who thought a mutual interest in art meant he could waltz over and prance across everything like it was his? Who cared?

Antonio, apparently, since he was back the next day.

And he brought _friends_.

" _Hola_! I mean, _ciao_!"

Romano looks up from his canvas and squints. Green Eyes had returned, possibly to buy a painting (pro) or possibly to torture him with happy stares and too much talking (con). He had Feliciano for that, thank you very much.

The best solution to this problem was to feign ignorance. Definitely.

" _Ciao_ , would you like to buy a painting?" Oh, Romano deserves an award for shooting that flawless smile in any direction besides that of a beautiful girl.

"Oh, uh..."

The blond pretty boy on Antonio's right smiles winningly and smooths his hair, leaning forward. "I'm afraid we don't have any money, but if you like, I can make you an offer of a different kind..."

A crack appears in Romano's palette, and if he appears to be hiding behind the easel it is only a trick of the light.

"Fuck off, you pervert!"

"Francis! Stop offering people sexual favors in place of money!" The man on Antonio's left rolls his eyes and smacks his hand down on the table. He appears to be albino, with red eyes that a probably a sign of demonic possession. Romano crosses himself involuntarily. "Look, we're just along for the ride because Toni here-" a jerk of the thumb towards the Spaniard, who grins and waves a little sheepishly "-wanted to show us the 'cute Italian artist.' 'Cause, y'know. We're artists, too."

Romano scowls and flips them a middle finger from behind the safety of his canvas. "Get the hell away from my stand before I call the cops!"

The albino snorts and sticks his tongue out. "Right, like half the little places along the street are legal in the first place!"

(Here Romano would like to point out that just because whenever a cop zooms by on a moped all of the vendors scoop up their wares and run, doesn't mean that it's illegal. It's just not _encouraged_.)

"Just leave unless you're going to buy a painting! I work hard on those! Go molest someone else!"

Demon Eyes takes a step toward him.

"Okay, okay, half price, how does half price sound?" Romano can afford one half price painting more than he can afford aggressiveness toward his...lesser physique. "Go ahead take whichever one you want!"

The albino stops and stares at for a moment, then cackles, pointing very rudely at Romano's spooked expression. "Psh, as if I wanted one of your lame paintings anyway! I'm a digital artist, dumbass, I don't care about this scenic landscape shit! But you should see your face anyway!"

Blondie chuckles too, rubbing his weird chin stubble, and Romano decides to let them know just brave and not-intimidated he is with an expressive finger. Feliciano might have been scared of three mildly creepy, foreign guys who are possibly art stalkers, but not Romano! Romano is _macho_.

Macho and well dressed in his best (only) tailored Armani suit.

"I like your paintings! But I have friendly tip for you, from one artist to another!" Antonio grins, and it boils with malicious intent toward Romano in particular, obviously, because no one tells a true Italian how to paint. "You might want to be friendlier to prospective buyers, even if they don't actually buy anything! You never know how they might affect business!"

"Is that a threat?" Romano sneers.

Antonio leans forward and smiles like he knows a secret.

"Of course not! But you wouldn't want to get on a customer's bad side, no?"

Because he is much more intelligent than his brother, Romano makes the tactical decision to grab his paint supplies and quickly pack up for an early dinner.

* * *

Being the wise, rational Italian that he is, Romano normally would have left those three shitheads behind immediately. Cleared them from his mind, with a nice hot soak and possibly some more signs of the cross over his chest. But some divine power decided that he didn't deserve to continue with his perfectly comfortable life painting all by his lonesome on the street while his carrot head of a brother cavorted with evil Germans.

Even in hindsight, Romano isn't really sure how he feels about that.

(Actually, he is, but that's distracting from the natural progression of "the subject.")

That being said, it was only a matter of time before Green Eyes found him again.

The setting is the same. Swelteringly hot, Rocca di Papa, some date, and so on and so forth. The important part constitutes Romano sitting on the curb, avoiding the smoke wafting out of the nearby restaurant (didn't they know what those little fuckers did to your lungs?) and people in general. And because he had been mostly successful in that endeavor all day (it was his day off, or as much of a day off as working on commission and freelance can be), he felt quite amiable.

This evaporated as soon as he saw that annoying Spaniard again.

And the annoying Spaniard saw him.

"Hey, it's you!"

"Yay, me," Romano mutters under his breath. "Are you following me or something, bastard?"

Antonio laughs and skips over, hands in his pockets. "Of course not!"

Romano should definitely not feel somehow insulted by that. "Well, good, because that would be unbelievably creepy and I would have totally kicked your ass."

He just laughs and sits down, way to close for Romano's (impeccable) taste.

"No, I was just taking a walk around town again while my friends sleep off last night. It's actually kind of strange for me to be the only one awake, since I sleep more than both of them! But I didn't get nearly as drunk as they did this time, so I decided to look around some more, and I found you again! What's your name? You ran off so quickly yesterday I didn't get to ask."

Romano's lip curled in horror. There was a living, breathing, second Feliciano sitting in front of him with curlier hair and a deeper voice. But at least the terrible twosome weren't present.

"Why do you want to know?"

The Spaniard shrugs. "I like getting to know people."

"Romano Vargas. And no, you can't have my address or phone number."

Antonio's nose wrinkles in confusion. "I wasn't going to ask for those."

"It was a joke...kind of."

"Oh." An awkward pause ensues. "I don't get it."

Standing with a sigh, Romano tries to figure out the most efficient way to rid himself of this dimwitted company. Considering past experiences and brief, one-sided attempts at conversation, something involving painting ought to do the trick.

"Never mind. Do you want to see some more paintings or what?"

Antonio's eyes light up, and there goes another sticky note in Romano's book that says _Danger! Danger! Milestone!_ because he doesn't know what it is, but there is some unidentifiable something in those green eyes that give him a half sickening, half tingling feeling in his stomach that is a sure sign that he is getting himself into a mess. But Romano just ignores it, because that pasta at lunch had too much cilantro and no one gets the stomach tinglies anymore.

"Tch, okay, I'll take that as a yes."

Without bothering to glance behind him at the overly happy idiot (he'd only mentioned paintings, no need to get a fucking hard on!), Romano heads off into the narrow, winding alleys. But, halfway down the third one, he realizes that he's leading the potential stalker to his house! Where he sleeps! And eats! What the hell is he thinking?

But Antonio is new here, he would never know if Romano led him to some other house. Or just ditched him in the alleys. Tourists got lost all the time in the darkened spaces, and it wouldn't even appear as though Romano ditched him on purpose! It was genius! And with a little more watchfulness, Romano could easily avoid the Spaniard and his creepy friends for the remainder of the summer, as long as he looked where he was going.

Romano grins to himself for being such a genius, and promptly speeds up.

Within moments, the echoes of Antonio's clumsy footsteps falls behind, and Romano ducks into a tiny jewelry shop, grinning with satisfaction. That would show him to take a hint! That would show him to be too friendly with strangers who very obviously did not want the company!

After waiting a bit and pretending to admire the necklaces, Romano deems it safe to walk home.

No sounds follow him.

* * *

Romano sets up his stand on the other side of the city. To be honest, he has been thinking about the green-eyed Spaniard. He admits it! Who wouldn't waste a few brain cells thinking about a person who creeped you out and had managed to pop up with minions no less than three times? Nobody, that's who!

Keeping a watchful eye on the streets, he arranges the canvases to catch any passerby's eye.

"You are a little pain in the ass, aren't you?"

Oh _shit_.

Romano leaps out of his chair in the well known classic Italian retreat move, but a hand of steel grabs his shoulder and pushes him back down. The Spaniard smiles down at him coldly, and he gulps, a move to Florence becoming a more viable option every second.

"Look, I really didn't appreciate being ditched the other day. It took me a long time to get home, and I got in a lot of trouble with my supervisors because of you." The green eyes narrow, and then suddenly the smile is happy and carefree again. "But it's okay, because I think you're like one of those cute, vicious chihuahuas!"

(Here Romano has scribbled "WHAT THE FUCK" multiple times in the margin, next the original addition of a red sharpie heart.)

"What the fuck?!" Having been released from the iron grip, Romano scurries backwards, to a moderately safe distance away.

The Spaniard has the audacity to laugh.

"You know those little dogs that seem like they hate you and bark and growl and sometimes pee in your lap? But then you make friends with them and they actually love you a lot? I think you're a person kind of like that! And we just got off on the wrong foot. I'm sorry if my friends and I scared you!"

Romano feels a headache coming on, and it has nothing to do with the pounding afternoon sun.

"I'm just going to forget you compared me to a purse puppy that pees in your lap. Okay? Okay. Onto wrong feet, or foot, or whatever. Let's get this straight: your friends are creepy. You are only slightly less creepy. So how about we just go about our business, hm?"

Antonio looks hurt. "But-"

"But what?" Romano shoots back, frustrated. "Why would you possibly want to be friends with me?"

"Um..." Antonio shrugs, smiling unabashedly. "Did I mention I think you're cute?"

(No further account of this date on the timeline can be found, because Antonio always laughs with a mildly pained expression and Romano simply stutters falsehoods.)

* * *

It should be duly noted that most of the following events happen over a lengthy period of time, somewhere around four months, with many lapses in interest to any party not directly involved, and a few memorable events that become increasingly frequent over time.

Romano doesn't remember much at all. The tidbits he does remember are either embarrassing, humiliating, or made up. Nevertheless, after some checking and double checking with accountable witnesses when possible, he did manage to assemble a few anecdotes that show the progression of _something_ to _something_ quite well.

* * *

[Antonio _enters stage left, carrying an unidentified sack of unidentified items that appears quite heavy. He stays on the customer side of Romano's tourist stand._ ]

"Romano! Roma! Can I call you Roma? It's such a cute name, and it's like the tomatoes!"

"No! Wait...did you actually bring some?"

"Oh! Yes. Here."

[Antonio _reveals the tomatoes in his sack, and offers_ Romano _one._ Romano _accepts with a look of begrudging thanks._ ]

"My father has a big garden with lots of tomato plants, and when I go home to visit I help him garden. It's very relaxing, and the tomatoes are delicious! Very fresh, of course."

[Antonio _beams._ Romano _is visibly flustered, and speaks quietly while looking at the tomato he is holding._ ]

"Tomatoes are my favorite fruit, idiot."

"I guess I'll have to bring some every day to share, then!"

* * *

( _An excerpt from Romano's_ _dia- journal._ )

June 29th

Feli called today. I could literally hear the potato bastard breathing in the background, just like the serial psycho-rapist-stalker in that movie I never finished. I bet he has a record. And a tattoo on his chest that says "Mom" or something really fucking dumb like that.

I bet Feli would know.

...I don't want to know how Feli would know about any tattoos I can't see.

THE POINT IS he wouldn't shut up about one of his weird friends named Gilbert and his friend of a friend of a friend or something stupid like that who had finally met someone he/she likes. I don't know why he thinks I care, especially about people I don't even know. Like, goddamn, I know sometimes we gossip about our families and basically anyone who walks by even if we have to make up crap, but it's not interesting without the people there in front of you.

And no matter what that sneaky little bitch says, I am NOT a matchmaker.

Antonio won't stop visiting my stand. He says he's giving me practice at social interaction with customers when I obviously don't need any. He doesn't remember how charming I tried to be to him when he first showed up. It was only after he started irritating me that I started treating him less like a customer and more like a

We're not really friends, damn it, we're acquaintances! Shut up, Feli! Shut up, Romano, don't talk to yourself!

(Me of tomorrow: remember to buy bread. The bruschetta isn't going to make itself, dumbass.)

* * *

"Hey, Romano!"

The soft slap of sandals on pavement alerts Romano to Antonio's presence, and he turns just in time to get a face full of tan arm.

"Get off me, idiot!"

Antonio laughs and complies. "Sorry, but you weren't supposed to turn around like that!"

They fall into step rather awkwardly, Romano on the left and Antonio on the right, nearer the street. Antonio seems to be vibrating with excitement, especially judging from the way his tattered paint bag is thumping against his leg, and Romano lets it continue for a grand total of two minutes before smacking Antonio's shoulder and grabbing the bag.

"I don't know if you need to piss or if you just chugged five gallons of energy drinks, but you need to stop and take some deep breaths before you spontaneously combust," he growls, rolling his eyes.

"Ah, sorry! I'm just really, really excited to show you my ideas for my work!"

"Then show me."

Beaming, Antonio leans against the nearest wall to rifle through his bag. A small pad of paper held together only by luck and a rubber band falls out, and he snatches it up before Romano can investigate.

"This isn't part of it," Antonio laughs, eyes darting between Romano and the pad for a moment before he stuffs it back into the bag in exchange for a large sketchbook. His hands are streaked with pastels, and they leave a mark when he tugs on Romano's sleeve to pull him closer to the ragged thing.

(The shirt stains. Romano never gets around to throwing it out.)

"See, I have a few rough sketches - the assignment has to have three to five works - in the pastels, but we're supposed to use different mediums and I thought this one-" Antonio points to a messy drawing of a little girl holding a fish bowl "- would look best with oil paint, especially with the textures in her clothes and the water, you know? What do you think?"

Romano inspects the drawings critically. He's decent. Pretty good for a college student, not a prodigy and certainly nowhere near the Vargas level of natural talent, but pretty good.

"Yeah, I think oils would work well. I know a good brand, too."

Rubbing the back of his neck, Antonio chuckles sheepishly, and Romano instantly guesses why.

"That's the thing..." He puts the drawings back in the back on his shoulder, crossing his arms tightly. "I don't exactly have any oil paints, or the money to buy them with."

Romano pinches the bridge of his nose. His precious oils would not be seen in anyone else's hands if he had any breath of life in him. "I thought your friend had some?"

"He used all of them up on the last assignment, and since he uses them for everything he's not allowed to use them again for this one," Antonio mumbles, watching Romano's expression from under his curly hair. "So there won't be anyone I know with oil paints until we return to the university. But, maybe you could let-"

"No! Nope!" Romano swings his hands in true Italian style. "Those paints are fucking expensive! I'm not going to just let you use them for a damn school...thing...oh, come on, Antonio."

Feliciano's puppy dog eyes have strengthened him over the years. His cousin Emma's took a bit more training, but now he can resist them almost every time (unless she accompanies them with sweets, then he melts like butter). But neither of them could have prepared him for the force of Antonio's _Bright Green Puppy Dog Eyes of Doom_. Romano didn't even know eyes could _do_ that.

"Please, Roma?"

"Don't...don't call me that! The answer is no! N-O!"

"Pleeeaaase?"

Like the evil, conniving bastard he is, Antonio adds a third element to his arsenal by tugging on Romano's hands.

That was that. The white flag of surrender waved. Romano's resistances crumble helplessly under the renewed siege, and he is forced to relent.

"Fine, fine, okay, you can borrow the oils! Just stop touching me!"

Antonio has the audacity to laugh delightedly in triumph and drags Romano in a circle before releasing his hands.

"Now you just have to teach me how to use them!"

* * *

Romano's apartment creaks a rather pathetic welcome when he opens the door. Some people might call it cramped; Romano calls it _economical_. It has a bedroom and living room/kitchenette with the toilet and shower in separate rooms, and he walks down three blocks to do laundry and five to pick up groceries.

Antonio nods politely as he explains this, kicking off his sandals and looking around with unwarranted curiosity (did Romano mention it's only two rooms?).

"So where are we going to paint?"

Slipping into the bedroom and rummaging around in his closet, Romano scoffs and scowls at the mess. "Not here. I don't care how good you think you are, one drop of paint on the tile and I'm out on my ass." He finds the oils and an old sketchbook with blank pages for them to practice on. "No, we're going outside to the plaza."

"Okay!"

Five minutes later, Romano is three items wiser.

I. Despite stingy landlords, when having to teach a student as easily distracted as Antonio, the apartment is a much better choice than the plaza. And pigeons are actually paint-hungry demons straight out of _The Inferno_.

II. Painting with other people is actually be kind of fun. Having someone to talk to and just being comfortably near another person is pleasant, even if said person is relying on you for instruction. That might actually be the best part, playing the mentor role, except that

III. _Antonio can't fucking paint._

"How are you so bad at this? You're in art school, don't you know how the color wheel works," Romano asks, more disbelieving than angry.

Antonio laughs sheepishly. His palette is mostly covered with sickly shades of brown and yellow-green.

"Painting is a lot different from pastels! Or colored pencils, or characoal, or really anything that is more...solid."

"I give up," Romano spits, disgusted. "Just...dick around with the sketchbook until you find your way around mixing and applying and blending. Then we'll talk."

"I'd rather we keep talking," Antonio grins cheekily, and the only reason Romano's face feels warm it's because they're sitting directly in the sun and he's wearing mid length sleeves.

"Fine, we'll compromise, then," he says, and turns back to his own palette. He's smiling.

Unfortunately, by the time they stop an hour and a half later, the smile is gone. Antonio appears to be completely unteachable. He mixed the wrong colors, tried to blend directly on the paper (which works well with pastels or acryllics but not so much with chunky oils), and left big gobs of paint in uneven layers. Romano's never actually taught anyone to paint before, but if he had a point of reference, Antonio would definitely be the worst.

"F," he announces dryly, tapping a dry corner. "We're done for the day, young padawan, and your homework is to ask your creepy friend to make you some Basic Paint Tips flashcards and study them until they're etched on the back of your eye sockets."

"Not more homework!" Antonio protests, but he's smiling a little hidden smile that makes Romano suspicious.

"What? Think you'll be ready to paint that project without me?"

"Of course not, great master."

"That's more like it," Romano says, and they both grin. "And the great master orders gelato. Now."

(Romano orders his favorite, plain yogurt with strawberries on top. Antonio orders the really fucking weird gelato flavor combination of pomegranate and pistachio. The only reason Romano remembers is because he tried it. Not bad.)

* * *

From: Antonio

would you mind if my friends came to see the lesson today? I promise they won't interrupt!:)

To: Antonio

Are these "friends" the freaks that came and invaded my stand with you that one time?

From: Antonio

we didnt invade silly it's not the roman empire anymore!

From: Antonio

we divided and conquered

To: Antonio

You didn't conquer anything fucknugget

From: Antonio

thats mean :(

From: Antonio

:(:(:(:(:( pleeeeeaaaase?

To: Antonio

...okay fine they can come

From: Antonio

yay! :D

* * *

With a great deal of mental preparation the night before, Romano thought he would be ready for the assault on his carefully balanced paint lesson organization. Antonio's friends, he knew, would absolutely disrupt everything, and he had to be ready to defend what he could at a moment's notice. The blond already knew how to use paints, at least according to Antonio, and would probably be a pretentious, flamboyant asshole about it.

Romano had prepared many ready retorts as well as a well-practiced escape route should things come to that. If he couldn't run, then, well...the plaza was packed in the early afternoon. There would be witnesses.

Even with all this preparation, however, he still felt the churning in his stomach when he heard Antonio's loud laughter mingling with two others come around the corner. He cursed the Spaniard a thousand times in his mind and wondered why he had ever agreed to this. Paint lessons were supposed to be private! For reasons!

"Ah, yes, I do remember him!" The blond one (now featuring a low ponytail)approached for the initial maneuver, and Romano checked his route entrances one more time. "Though with your detailed descriptions, Toni, I could have painted him myself."

Antonio laughs good naturedly and picks up the sketchbook that has been gradually filling up with his practice works.

"Aww, he is cute!" says the white haired one with demon eyes, grinning.

Romano bares his teeth. "Shut the fuck up, creep!"

"...and also like a small, vicious Chihuahua," he finishes. "Big dogs are so much better, asshole."

"What is with the dog thing?! God!"

"Thanks, but 'Gilbert' is fine for friends of my friends," Demon Eyes grins.

"That wasn't even clever, Gilbert, you've been saying that since eighth grade," Antonio says, unimpressed.

"And I am Francis Bonnefoy, part time student, full time lover and _artiste_!" announces the blond one, suddenly appearing directly in front of Romano and bowing. When he tries to grab Romano's hand to kiss, Romano tries to smack him, but he simply dances backwards and smiles cheerfully. "Available _any_ time, assuming I am not already engaged."

It's probably the trapped animal look on Romano's face that urges Antonio to grab his friends' reigns.

"Okay, guys! Francis, Gilbert: Romano. Romano: Francis, Gilbert. Francis is the one who likes oil paints! And Gilbert paints digitally with a fancy computer tablet."

"Damn right I do!"

"Gilbert, please, we are in Italy, home of traditional art. Keep your barbarian technology to yourself."

"At least I can't get paint in my hair."

"What?! I haven't touched anything yet today! Where is it?"

Francis frantically pulls a handheld mirror out of his back pocket and inspects his hair while Gilbert cackles. He sneaks up behind the Frenchman and flicks his neck.

"Right there!"

" _Vous êtes un_ _enfant immature_."

"Hey, fuck you!"

Antonio sighs and turns to Romano, who can hardly believe he was nervous about these idiots.

"Let's just get started. They do this a lot."

Shrugging as he retrieves the oils, Romano scowls in the direction of the bickering pair.

"You know what they say about the company you keep, don't you?"

Antonio raises his eyebrows stares at him with a strange expression, making him fight the urge to fidget.

"I like to think choose my company very carefully."

* * *

( _An excerpt from Gilbert Beilschimdt's blog.)_

August 8th

hey totally awesome followers!

1: users worldfreedomforall and SakuraTreeAnime, I TOTALLY KICKED YOUR ASSES IN LEAGUE LAST NIGHT, STOP TELLING PEOPLE I DIDN'T. I HAVE SCREENSHOTS TO PROVE IT!

2: livestream this evening! I've gotta work on a thing for class for a while but i'll take requests at the end. rules are in the FAQ but basically don't be a shithead

3: you guys remember one of my best friends Antonio? the tan guy from this hot and sexy post-guys-night-out party? (yeah that's right i saw all of your messages! fuckin pervs) he's been spending all his time with some native italian dude who needs a goddamn attitude adjustment. but the point is the guy looks just like my brother's bf! like no joke they're both cute as hell except this one is the evil twin.

anyone want to bet on what my brother would do if we got them to switch places like every twin movie ever?

3 people like this

Comments:

worldfreedomforall: YOU CHEATED YOU LIAR CHEATERS NEVER PROSPER D:

putyouryaoihandsup: Picture updates or I'll "borrow" your 3DS again :3

* * *

Somewhere around this point in time, Romano realizes just how much trouble he's in. Study abroad trips don't last forever, and Antonio and the freaks he called friends are scheduled to return later in the month.

He shouldn't care. Antonio was just some guy he hung out with to pass the time when selling his paintings.

Or working on his paintings.

Or grocery shopping.

Or at three in the morning when Francis has his "rival, I swear" over and Antonio can't sleep.

Or when he got into a fight with Feliciano and needed to rant before he exploded.

Okay, so maybe they were pretty good friends. More or less. But whatever the relationship status was at this point, Romano suddenly became aware just how far behind him the innocent fork in the road was. He had already passed it, and so had Antonio, with only one way to go.

And that's directly around a blind corner.

* * *

"No, stop, just-" Romano groans in exasperation and grabs the brush out of Antonio's hand. "You can't hold a paint brush like a pencil, and you can't put the rest of your arm down unless you want a stripe of fresh paint on it. I'm pretty sure I told you the exact same thing last time!"

"But, Roma, I-"

"Exact. Same. Fucking. Thing."

Antonio grins and moves his arm, admiring the streak of green on his forearm. "Okay. Got it."

"Let's hope it sticks this time," Romano grumbles, turning back to his own paper. "No common sense, goddamn it, Antonio..."

(He doesn't notice that Antonio that Antonio managed to call him by that stupid nickname. And he doesn't notice the next time, or the next, or the time after that.)

* * *

It is a slightly less-than-swelteringly sunny day in Rocca di Papa, mid-August by the calendar but late November by the sky. The air is heavy with moisture, and Romano curses colorfully as he feels the goosebumps on his arms synchronize with the beads of sweat along his hairline.

Most of the tourists have left by this time of the year, except for a few stragglers who for some reason decided to stay for the annoying mix of chilly breeze and sticky humidity. But Romano is glad for the space as he trudges up the stairs to his apartment, because if he bumped into some equally sweaty, disgusting person, he would probably cause a public spectacle and get a second mark on his record that he really didn't need or deserve (It was a tiny little Vespa, why the hell couldn't it be parked there?).

The day had been rough on him. Paintings didn't sell well off tourist season, so he usually took up a job at a local restaurant. Unfortunately, the owner had retired in the spring, leaving a hardworking and friendly but irrationally nervous man named Moblit in her place. The guy was a total pushover, which led to other employees ditching, which led to Romano being stuck with a ten hour shift.

Romano didn't even have the energy to yell at Moblit (Stupid name. Probably German.) by the time they locked up. And that was saying something.

He collapses on his bed, too exhausted to even undress. He would've been asleep in seconds, except an unpleasant moaning noise came from underneath him.

The bed springs must have broken. Shitty furniture store.

Romano rolls over to try and find a quieter place, but the moan only came again. And then:

"Gtmmm offfmmmmeh."

With a shriek, Romano rolls over and right off the bed, landing on the floor with a loud thud.

Instead of faulty springs, _Antonio_ is sprawled across his bed. Romano shouldn't be surprised, not with Murphy's Law and all that.

But he still shrieks again.

"What the fuck are you doing in my apartment, you bastard? And why are you on my bed?"

Antonio grunts incoherently and pushes his chin up with one hand, yawning. It would have been incredibly cute, except that he gives Romano a sleepy glare that reminds him just how scary Antonio can be on the rare occasion he's irritated.

But then his expression softens into something like fondness and he smiles and stretches.

(How was his stomach tan? Right down to the pant line? Did he just stay outside all day, without...)

( _Scribbles_.)

"Ah, sorry, Roma." The smile widens as he settles back on his elbows. "I came to see you and your landlord said you were at work, but that you would be back at seven. He recognized me -haha, he called me a cheer up charm! Isn't that funny? - and let me in here! I sat down to wait for you, but I got tired and your couch was really lumpy and uncomfortable, so I just came in here."

He looks at Romano's face and interprets the expression there for anger and lowers his eyes sheepishly.

"Sorry, again. I didn't think about your privacy, and I know that you-"

"Just. Shut up."

Romano makes shooing motions as he climbs up onto the bed.

"Yeah, move- No, not off the bed, you idiot! Scoot over, it's not a big bed, and don't you dare kick me in your sleep."

Antonio stares at him from the foot of the bed, and Romano flushes under his gaze.

"It's late, dumbass, and you'd probably get lost in the alleys in the dark. We're both tired, so we're going to sleep and you're going to talk to me in the morning because right now I can barely look at your s-stupid face. Clear?"

"Crystal," Antonio murmurs, crawling back onto one side with a dopey grin and facing Romano. He grins brightly. "Goodnight, Romano!"

"Don't make me tell you to shut up twice," Romano warns, turning over and switching off the light.

Antonio is very warm.

* * *

From: Antonio

im sorry i left before you woke up! i almost forgot i had class at nine today!

To: Antonio

You're texting in class?

From: Antonio

its individual work time :D

To: Antonio

Oh my god

* * *

They meet in front of Romano's restaurant, with Romano still wearing his dumb apron and Antonio making a t-shirt and capris look unfairly attractive.

"Okay, what did you need to tell me so badly?" Romano asks, voice hitching as he reaches behind to untie the apron. He hears Antonio swallow hard behind him, and rolls his eyes beneath his bangs.

"Don't tell me you forgot. Does breaking into my apartment, waiting for me, crashing in my be-"

"I didn't break in, your landlord let me in," Antonio objects, smiling.

"Whatever. The whole reason that happened was because you wanted to talk to me about something. What was so important?"

Antonio swallows again, but it has a different quality this time, and Romano watches as the Spaniard rubs the back of his neck, as he always does when nervous.

"Well...you know how it's kind of almost the end of August?"

Romano squints at him.

But he knows where this is going. The students return to Spain the first week of September to start the new semester, and Antonio is going with them. He had been trying not to think about it. Losing the person he spent most of his time with, the person he could always, always count on in any situation, the person who listened, the person whose hair he really wouldn't mind getting his fingers tangled in...

"Yeah. Next week."

"Well...I just thought we should do something special before I leave, you know? Something big?"

Romano shrugs nonchalantly because he is an excellent actor.

"Sure. Any ideas?"

"A few." Antonio starts walking slowly, and naturally Romano follows. "Like we could go into Rome and ride a gondola-"

"That's Venice, and they're overrated and overpriced. And they smell."

"-or we could go tour a museum or a church-"

"Mostly boring or fake."

"-or we could, I don't know, go to eatatafancyrestaurant?"

Romano blinks.

"What?"

With a nervous sigh that sounds like his lungs can't decide whether to breathe in or out, Antonio levels a stare at Romano that makes him shiver with something besides cold.

"Would you like to go eat out at a nice restaurant together before I leave for Spain?"

Romano is speechless for a moment. Is Antonio asking as a date (Holy fucking SHIT, is Antonio asking as a date?), or is he asking as a friend? Maybe eating out is a thing he and his stupid friends do. He said "nice" restaurant, but maybe all that does is lift the status above McDonalds or a one-stop coffee stop. And how should he respond in each case?

Well, that's simple. He wants to do something _nice_ with Antonio before he leaves. So he'll say yes. With dignity. Not desperation.

He still has some pride left.

"Okay."

Antonio peeks out from between his fingers, and Romano almost laughs to see his own nervous awkwardness projected onto Antonio's normally unshakable easy confidence.

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay. Do you have a place picked out, or should I help you with that, too?"

The Spaniard chuckles, then laughs fully, short hiccups interrupting each inhale, and Romano can't hold back a smile at the sight. Antonio smiles and laughs a lot, but it's different when he actually laughs loudly like this. He isn't the kind of person to laugh at another person like that, either (When that happens, it's usually around Gilbert or Francis, and it's usually a very unmanly giggle smothered behind one calloused hand.), and Romano doesn't find himself minding even if the laughter is indirectly caused by something he said.

"Oh, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear that, Roma," Antonio says breathlessly, looking directly at Romano with dancing eyes.

Romano's heart leaps into his throat, leaving a cloud of butterflies in its wake.

"I might have an idea," he mutters.

* * *

The da- appointment doesn't happen.

Romano's cousin Emma had been in a car accident. Some drunk idiot ran a stop sign at thirty miles an hour and t-boned her. Luckily, he hit the passenger side of the car, and the worst of her injuries are a pair a broken ribs and a concussion, but she's not supposed to be home alone for a few days after the hospital, and Romano trusts her idiotic brother about his far as he can throw him. The pothead would probably let her fall down the stairs twice before he even noticed the railings were gone.

In short, Romano refuses to let her suffer alone. Antonio's dinner will have to wait until he gets back.

(There will only be two days left then.)

Because he is an incredibly compassionate human being, Romano is nearly sobbing when Emma first calls from Belgium and explains.

"I'm serious, Romano, it's just a couple of broken ribs. Seriously. I broke more bones rock climbing in college."

"I will kill him," Romano insists, sniffing vehemently. "I will kill the son of a bitch who hit you. I will hang him by his toes Italian style and-"

"I'm pretty sure the Italians never did that."

"What do _you_ know?"

Her sigh crackles through the phone.

"Just please catch a flight out here ASAP. I'm discharged from the hospital tomorrow, whenever you can get here."

Romano sniffs again, dabbing at his eyes with a wadded up piece of toilet paper.

"Yeah, fine."

"Love you, Roma!"

"Love you, too."

He hangs up, and turns to Antonio, who has a largest grin Romano has ever seen on his face.

"Um...Toni?" Romano begins, scowling, "If you keep smiling about my cousin's horrible car accident injuries, I'm going to headbutt your insensitive face."

"She's fine, didn't you hear her?" Antonio waves him off and steps closer, grin softening into something very new and strange and _affectionate_.

Romano swallows.

"I think it's very sweet how protective you are of your cousin," Antonio says quietly, green eyes shining.

"Of course I'm protective," Romano scoffs, sure that his face is on fire. "I don't fucking trust her stoned brother or really anyone else she could contact, and she knows it!"

"Well, it's not exactly just that." Antonio smiles and leans forward, hands in his pockets. "You're very prickly all the time, and grumpy, and irritable about silly things."

"Hey!"

"But it's just to cover up how much you really care about the people you love," he finishes.

They are very close now, and Romano's mouth has never been drier.

"I-I..."

Antonio moves a tiny bit closer, seriousness in his face but nervousness in his hands, which are tracing the seams of his jeans unconsciously. Not that Romano's looking.

"Romano, you sometimes are like that when we do things together." Antonio licks his lips. "I was wondering- well, more like hoping, that maybe you-"

"I NEED TO GO BOOK MY FLIGHT!"

And once again, Romano employs the age old, failure proof Italian Evasive Maneuver.

* * *

**Francis Bonnefoy**

I am surrounded by idiots.

2 people like this

Comments (17)

Arthur Kirkland: This had better not be a reference to yesterday, frog, because if it is I will come down there and burn your closet!

Francis Bonnefoy: Don't flatter yourself ;)

Alfred F. Jones: guess that doesnt mean me because im over here! hahaha HERO

Gilbert Beilschmidt: stfu jones and btw matt wants me to tell you to give him his phone back

Alfred F. Jones: matt gets his phone back when he stops banging you because youre disgusting B(

Gilbert Beilschmidt: mattie bangs whoever he wants, i.e. the sexy me

Ivan Braginski: Alfred, I think it would be advisable to give your brother his phone back

Alfred F. Jones: NO

Matthew Williams: Thanks, Ivan :)

Francis Bonnefoy: Oh mon dieu this was about Antonio.

Antonio Carriedo-Fernandez: what about me? :D

Francis Bonnefoy: You are a hopeless idiot in love and it is beautiful but you need to do something about it before it flies away.

Antonio Carriedo-Fernandez: oh sorry. but i dont know what to do...

Francis Bonnefoy: Text me and I'll tell you exactly what to do.

Antonio Carriedo-Fernandez: ok!

Lukas Bondevik: You're clogging up my newsfeed.

Elizabeta Héderváry: Details!

* * *

Romano is running very, very late for his flight. His foot taps the entire way through security and almost loses his boarding pass dodging a family with a screaming baby. When he finally arrives at the right terminal, they are just calling his boarding group, and he sighs in relief, leaving heavily against the desk.

"Romano!"

That voice is far more familiar than it has any right to be.

He turns around to see Antonio barreling toward him, a water bottle and napkin-wrapped tomato in hand.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Antonio presents his gifts as the attendant drones her final call into the microphone. He's panting heavily, hair a matted mess, and Romano is suddenly positive he literally outran security. A fugitive is trying to give him a tomato and a water bottle. An attractive fugitive, but a fugitive.

"You...you forgot something."

Romano grabs both items in disgust.

"Bastard, I'm not going on a trek in the Sahara, and anyway if I wa-"

Antonio grabs his face and kisses him soundly.

The kiss is short but forceful. When Antonio pulls away, Romano finds that he can't focus on much of anything except those dancing green eyes.

"That's what you forgot," Antonio explains, pressing a second kiss to Romano's forehead before jogging backwards the way he came, grinning. "The other things are just for good luck. Call me when you arrive!"

Romano promptly forgets. Or pretends to.

* * *

( _An excerpt from Romano's journal._ )

August 23rd

Tonio is a good kisser.

* * *

Belgium is boring. Emma is sweet and fun but she is also injured and therefore less fun. Romano has spent most of his time making food, grocery shopping for more food, cleaning, and talking to his cousin. It is the most work he's willingly done since he first moved in to his apartment, and even then only because Emma threatened to stop baking all of the desserts on Christmastime visits.

In addition to this atrocity, she threatens to call Feliciano if he doesn't tell her all of the details about the mysterious Spanish student she's been hearing about on Facebook.

Romano curses social media. And his brother.

But finally he gives in and tells her everything. How despite his million dollar lessons, Antonio still can't use oil paints, how he likes to walk Romano just about everywhere so they can talk about everything and nothing, how he twists one of his dark curls around his fingers when he's thinking...

On that note, Romano finds himself on a mental tangent, because his other cousin from Portugal made him watch _The Count of Monte Cristo_ once after trying to convince Romano to read the book (He could have killed a person with that book!) and the way the Count's former fiancée recognized him was the way he curled his hair around his finger. Did that make Romano like a fiancé? Well, no, that's ridiculous, but he did find himself appreciating many of Antonio's habits, like his nervous lip biting and insistence not to step on cracks in the pavement and the different kinds of smiles he showed people...

Did Antonio notice those things about him?

"Earth to Romano!"

He jerks back to the present, with Emma smirking knowingly as she leans back on her pillows.

"Daydreaming about Wonder Boy, huh? Can't say I appreciate it, but I know the feeling and can't blame you. He sounds like a hot potato," she grins, taking a sip from the water glass next to her.

"Shut up! You've never met him, and you never will!" Romano scowls.

She considers his face for a moment, pursing her lips.

"Roma, can't you at least call him?"

"No." He rolls the bedsheet between his fingers. "No, I...no."

"Why on earth not?"

"I just can't!" he snaps. "After he...you know...he wanted me to, but, I mean, what was I supposed to say?"

"Um, one, no, I don't know. What did he do?" Emma waggles a finger in his face. After spending years with him, she knew just how to get him to talk. "And two, you've gone out with hundreds of girls. What makes Antonio so different?"

"He...he's a boy! And usually I'm the one making the first move anyway!"

Romano can feel his face heating up, and buries it in his hands.

"Wait, wait, you're telling me that what he did is he kissed you? Ohmygod! Roma!"

"Shut the fuck up," he mutters from face down on the bed.

Emma shrieks and pounds his back with the palms of her hands. "ROMA! I can't believe you left that out! He loves you! He really loves you! I can't believe you're letting this die!"

"Why does a-"

"Because he usually gets pretty shy, and if he actually got up the courage to do that, he must really like you!"

"Wait, how do you know he can be sh-"

"No buts! Romano Lovino Vargas, you are flying right back there tonight and going on your date with that sweet boy!"

Romano growls and sits up to lean over his giggling cousin.

"Fuck it all, I'm here to take care of you, you crazy bitch! What are you thinking? You know something you're not telling me!"

She laughs, wincing slightly, and waves him away.

"Don't be ridiculous, I'll be fine. I'll have to call my girlfriend to come take care of me, but she won't mind once she hears why you have to leave. Trust me."

"Bu-"

"No. Buts. Go to the airport right now. Make me proud!"

So Romano does, with trepidation in his stomach and his phone in his hands. After going back through customs and gathering his luggage, he sits out on the curb, waving away smoke from a couple on a nearby bench. Several false starts later, he finally manages to dial Antonio's number and press the send button.

"...Roma?"

He takes a deep breath.

"I'm at the airport. You going to pick me up or what?"

* * *

Antonio comes to pick him up. What hurt he might have felt is quickly smothered. They talk the entire ride back to Romano's apartment, and then stay in the car to make out a little before going inside. That's when Antonio breaks the news that he's staying.

"This better not be some kind of cruel joke, or I swear to God, Tonio-"

"No, no, it's true! I put in my transfer papers a few days ago and I got a confirmation email today!" Antonio's eyes are sparkling brighter than ever, and he squeezes Romano's hands like they're going out of style.

Nonetheless, Romano's smile has never been in such danger of splitting his face in two.

"So you're actually staying in Rome?"

"I am!" Antonio bounces up and down excitedly on the lumpy old couch. "I'll have to stay in a dorm for another year, but most weekends I can come out here and we can paint and go on dates and-"

"Oh, shit." Romano suddenly remembers the lessons that had stopped over a week ago. "Did you finish your project?"

Antonio laughs and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Since you ask, yes, I did! Do you want to see?"

He pulls up pictures of the paintings on his phone. Each one is flawless, with bright highlights and deep shadows and incredibly smooth strokes that layer the oils just right. It's as though Antonio suddenly became endowed with age old talent rivaled only by van Gogh himself.

"...You knew how to paint the whole time, didn't you."

Antonio laughs sheepishly and dodges the half-hearted smack Romano tosses out.

"I needed something that would make you spend time with me!"

Too happy to really complain (There's the rub.), Romano just sprawls across his new boyfriend and pinches his side fondly.

"You bastard."

* * *

And maybe Romano's not conducting a study so much as a critical review or a thesis paper on exactly how he and Antonio got to the point. Or maybe it's a good way to come up with some especially memorable, nice things to say when that ring that Antonio's been hiding in the back of his sock drawer finally comes into the open.

* * *


End file.
